Call Her Mine

by Lydia Michaels

  “When we arrived here there were only a handful of us left. Over the years we have established our own set of laws and families have grown. We are a happy community. Life is safe here. There is no violence or pressure to continuously adapt with the ever-changing world. Our values are strong and we have a devout faith in God.

  “I understand this is very different from the life you are used to, but I believe you could be happy here if you gave it a try. There are many wonderful things I have yet to share with you and we have an eternity to explore them together. I do not wish to hold you here against your will, but I will not let you go. Ever. You are meant to be by my side.”

  Okay, where was the camera hiding? She laughed. It was all she could manage at the moment. The hopeless emotion welling up inside of her had the dizzying affect of banging her head into a brick wall she’d never get through. The bite of tears had her lashes flickering and her throat constricting.

  “Okay, look, Christian, that’s a lovely story. It sounds like you guys came a long way in your little Amish village since you arrived—what, thirty some years ago? But I will never be okay with living this kind of lifestyle—”

  “We arrived here in 1737.”

  Her thoughts screeched to a halt. “You mean 1937?” No, that was still too long ago. She either misunderstood the story or totally misheard the year.

  “1737. That was when we arrived here on The Charming Nancy.”

  “We as in your ancestors?”

  “I was eight years old.”

  And crazy shall now be added to the list of why all good looking men sucked. She mentally sketched in the cord “crazy” directly behind gay or married. No wonder I’m still single. She sighed. “Riiiiight, okay, well then…I still can’t stay here. See, I’m not Amish.”

  “That makes no difference.”

  Well, he sure had an answer for everything. She smiled and through clenched teeth said, “I don’t want to live with the Amish.”

  “That will change over time.”

  “I’m not staying here!” she shrilled and pounded her fists on her thighs.

  He caught her hands. “Do not hit yourself, pintura.”

  “My name is Delilah.”

  His eyes looked sad. Perhaps she was wearing him down. His lips firmed and he stood. Maybe not.

  “I am sorry you are so unhappy at the moment. I’ve told you the way things are going to be and I have offered to make them as easy as possible on you. I do not know what else to tell you. You are being stubborn.”

  Her mouth and eyes went wide. “I’m being stubborn? Do you hear yourself? You picked me up at a bar and decided I belonged to you. You’re nuts!”

  He remained silent, his chest slowly rising and falling with each breath as he stared at her, unflinching.

  She went on. “I’m leaving. You just wait. Sooner or later I’ll get out of here and you can forget about my whole promise not to tell. I’m going right to the cops. I’m sure your simple ways will make the meager amenities of a jail easy for you to live with when you’re rotting in a cell!”

  “That is enough, Delilah.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be extra popular there. What, with being such a pretty man and all.”

  “I said that’s enough,” he whispered.

  “Yeah, in prison there are lots of people looking for a mate. Shouldn’t be a problem finding one there—”

  “I said enough!”

  “Jesus!” She drew back on the bed and sucked in a harsh breath. He towered over her, bearing down on her chest, eyes bright, wild, and totally dilated…his teeth…

  “This is your life now! Accept it.”

  She whimpered. What the fuck was he? If she thought his eyes looked like vampire eyes before, holy shit—“Vampire,” she whispered, unable to look away as she cowered on the bed.

  “That is right. Do you get it now? I am immortal and you are like me.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck! He’s not lying. Her heart was going to beat out of her chest. She couldn’t breathe and it became even harder when the fear that she might pass out set in. His eyes shifted to her chest and he abruptly backed off, pulling his body away from hers in a rush. She didn’t move.

  He turned away from her, running a hand through his hair and gripping the back of his neck. Nuts was one thing. Tense and nuts another, tense and nuts and science fiction creature…that was beyond what she could comprehend.

  Tears welled in her eyes and leaked out, catching in her still damp hair. She was going to die here. She was never getting out. A monster that was going to drink her dry had kidnapped her.

  “Delilah,” he snapped and she flinched. “Look at me.”

  She shut her eyes.

  “Pintura, look at me. I do not wish to frighten you, but if you do not look at me I will come over there and make you see me.”

  Her head slowly turned and her eyes hesitantly opened. He held out his arms, a show of absolute passivity, his gaze pleading and back to normal. How did he do that, compose his features, going from freak show to perfect in a second flat?

  A tear trickled over the bridge of her nose. It fell so close to her ear she heard the tiny splat as it landed on the bedding.

  “You know what we are now. But you see, I am as any other man as well.”

  We.

  “We live as mortals, but Amish mortals.”

  We.

  “Yes, we need to feed from time to time, but no one is harmed. We use the animals and you will be able to feed from me, your mate.”

  You.

  “Many of the legends are false. The sun will not affect you and you can still do most of the things you’ve always done.”

  You.

  “The Amish lifestyle is for security, privacy. It protects us from exposure so we can live freely amongst our own kind. You will make friends.”

  You.

  Her tongue moved over her teeth. Flat. Normal. She considered her body. It felt better than usual. Several of her flaws were gone. Flashes of sleeping with Christian bombarded her thoughts. She’d thought he was trying to strangle her, drug her, then something… This morning…had she not hallucinated that entire thing?

  “What did you give me?” she barely whispered.

  “Only my blood,” he said solemnly.

  She rolled to her side, moaned, as dry heaves had her shuddering. He was beside her in a second while his palm rubbed over her back. She smacked him away, but he ignored her. Her body shuddered under his touch as his palm rubbed softly over her back, a useless attempt to calm her. Her stomach rolled and her throat constricted.

  He’d made her drink his blood. How had she ever thought of vampires as sexy?

  “Pintura, you must calm down. You will make yourself sick.”

  “You sick fuck,” she wheezed in between gags. “You made me drink blood? How could you?”

  His voice was quiet—sad. “I had no other choice. You are my mate.”

  She forced back her nausea and cradled her stomach, but refused to look at him. “Am I one of you now? One of them?”

  “Yes.” His answer was barely a rasp.

  Neither of them spoke for a long time. He rubbed her back through her chemise and she allowed it because she was in too much shock to move away from the contact he seemed to insist on. After a long time her mind simply stopped working. She stared at a tiny ruffle in the pillowcase across from her face and thought of nothing.

  “I am sorry, pintura,” he whispered.

  “I hate you.” The utter venom in those three words only served to underscore how softly and intently they were spoken.

  Chapter Four

  Two days passed and she had not said a word. She only moved when she needed to use the bathroom. But even then she fought her reflexes with stubborn paralysis, fidgeting with need until she had no other choice but to stand and tend to her needs. Afterward, when he waited for her in the hall, she would simply stand there, staring off into space. Christian would wait for her to move, but she never did. So he would car
ry her back to his bed where she laid exactly as he put her only to stare some more.

  He brought her several peanut butter and jam sandwiches, fruit, fresh squeezed juice, milk, cookies, and anything else he could find that did not contain meat. She touched none of it. She had to be starving.

  Her skin was beginning to pull taut over the features of her face and dark circles had taken shape under her eyes. He wished he could at least get her to drink something. Christian tried lifting her head and coaxing her to swallow some juice, but she remained catatonic.

  He had not left the house in days and was grateful he had his own supply of distilled blood in the house. His days turned to simply lying next to her waiting for her to move. She remained so still he found himself holding his breath in between her blinks. For the first time in a long time he was unsure what to do.

  Currently, he rested on his side watching her sleep. She had to forgive him eventually. She was his mate.

  “I see it’s true then.”

  He turned and found Eleazar, their bishop, at the door, a world of understanding showing in his eyes. Christian turned back to Delilah, gently touched her hair, and scooted out of bed. He silently walked through the hall and into the den. The bishop followed.

  “How did you know?” Christian asked as they each took a seat.

  “Dane told me. You missed the council meeting. Your mother is concerned.”

  His mother. He’d have to deal with her eventually.

  “How long have you had her here, Christian?”

  “Four days.”

  “And things are not going well, I assume.”

  It was not the bishop’s business to ask, certainly not his right to know. But Christian knew he was asking simply as a friend. “No. I am afraid things are not going well.”

  Eleazar said nothing, but the bishop could simply look into his mind and see anything he wanted to know. He was the most powerful immortal on the farm, over half a millennia old.

  “She is one of us?”

  Christian paused, wondering how much the bishop already knew.

  “I can sense it in her. She is not mortal.”

  “She was,” Christian admitted.

  “I see. Females are very different out in the English world, Christian. They are independent and free-spirited. Not a whole lot scares them these days. Perhaps they are less afraid than they should be. Too often woman are brutalized. Regardless of their moral fiber, I find it is rare that an English female would be willing to sacrifice her modern life for that of ours. I am not even addressing immortality. I am speaking simply of choice. The English American population has fought long and hard for equality and this new generation would not easily give up such freedoms, I believe. How old is your female?”

  “She is almost thirty, I suspect, but I am not certain.”

  He frowned. “Did you not spend time with her, getting to know her before you brought her here?”

  Christian swallowed and shifted his weight. “We shared…chemistry.”

  “Christian, please tell me you didn’t…”

  “Of course not. I took nothing from her she didn’t freely offer.” He acknowledged the lie the minute the words left his mouth.

  “Except her life,” the bishop provided.

  “Except her life,” Christian agreed. Looking to the bishop with pleading eyes he explained, “But there was no point in waiting. She is mine and it would have happened eventually.”

  Eleazar held up his palms. “This is your marriage, your mate. It is not any man’s place to tell you how your relationship should be established or how it should work. There are, however, reasons that most males try to take a softer, slower approach with their called females. You clearly have your work cut out for you now.”

  That was the truth. “She will not eat.”

  “Has she fed?”

  “Once. Barely. I know she needs both. She does not eat meat. The idea of drinking blood makes her physically ill.”

  “She must learn to accept what is.”

  “I told her that. She is…stubborn.”

  “Aren’t they all?” the bishop mumbled. “Have you tried compelling her?”

  “No.”

  “Can you get into her mind?”

  Yes, he could, but he never liked what he found in there. Her thoughts were unfiltered and harsh. Every time he crossed into her mind he heard some scathing remark he did not appreciate. “I am hoping she comes to me willingly.”

  “Perhaps she will…in time. For now, though, it is your duty to see that she has all that she needs. If you can compel her to feed, do it. If not, I could—”

  “No. I want no one else in her thoughts.”

  “Very well.”

  The bishop left shortly after their discussion. Christian faced the stairs reluctantly and slowly climbed them. When he opened the door to his bedroom Delilah still lay where he left her, sound asleep.

  He approached the bed and stared down at her. She was very pale. His fingers brushed over her dark hair. The color had lightened a shade since she was transitioned. It no longer had the blue hues it did when he’d met her. Her natural color was dark brown, but not the black she had worn. It was still beautiful.

  “Delilah?”

  She didn’t move.

  He shut his eyes and pressed into her mind. No thoughts. No dreams. She slept exactly as the rest of the immortal race did.

  Taking a deep breath he pushed deep into her psyche and took hold of her freewill. Lowering himself to the bed, he pulled her onto his lap, cradling her close to his chest. Her head lolled as his fingers swept her hair away from her face. Unable to stop himself, he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She sighed.

  He simply held her for a moment, enjoying the weight of her in his arms. He needed to make their situation better in some small way. He needed to earn her forgiveness, her trust, her…love.

  He opened the collar of his shirt, knowing it would be easier to feed her from his wrist, but needing the intimate contact. Shifting her closer to his neck, he cupped the back of her head, and brought her mouth to his throat.

  The loose neck of her chemise slipped off her creamy shoulder. He kissed her there and whispered, “Take from me what you need, pintura. Feed from your mate until your hunger is gone.”

  He drew in a sharp breath as her little teeth punctured his skin. His body hardened after the first few pulls of her small mouth. The soft little moans she made as she drew from him did not help matters.

  Her body shifted. Her shoulders lifted and she turned, her knees sliding to either side of his thighs as she began to rock. As she fed, each drag of her warm body caused a delicious friction over his cock.

  His hands slid to her hips and gripped her tightly, trying to still her motions. Even unconscious, she was strong, stubborn, and having none of it. Her keening and sighs grew in pitch, fell closer and closer together as her hunger faded. Her pelvis rocked over him and he realized she was satisfying more than one hunger, truly taking what she needed, what her body craved, from her mate.

  His breath grew labored as he tried to hold onto his self-control. Faster and faster she rode him. He could not take much more. She was drawing his own release to the surface with each precious pull of her mouth over his flesh.

  “Delilah…” he breathed, pressing his lips into her shoulder. He should not be taking pleasure from her while she was unconscious. He tried to control his body’s reaction to what she was doing, but it was impossible. His soul reflexively recognized her as his other half.

  Her lips tightened and he extended his neck, leaning with her as her spine arched. Her thighs tightened over his and her mouth tore from him and she cried out.

  There was no stopping it. His climax followed. Heat bathed his thighs beneath the clasp of his pants and his eyes widened in utter shock as he held her, both their bodies shivering with release.

  Slowly, she came back down, still unconscious. He lowered her quivering body to the bed and drew the covers to her chest.
Her breath was steady again.

  A spot of his blood remained on the curve of her lower lip. Leaning down, he licked it away. She sighed and he groaned. Reluctantly, he left her to clean up in the washroom.

  When he returned in a fresh pair of pants, she still lay as he’d left her on the bed. He stood in the doorway, admiring her beauty, satisfied that he’d managed to provide for her what she needed in order to survive.

  Her eyes flashed open wide in one sudden motion. They were fully dilated. She was not happy.

  * * * *

  Delilah opened her eyes at the sound of breathing. Christian stood at the door watching. Him. He did this. The lethargic shock that had overcome her these past few days evaporated, replaced with uncontainable rage. She glared at him, pouring every bit of hate into her gaze.

  “You are awake.”

  Her breathing grew heavy and she heard herself growl. That must be a vampire thing. Her jaw shifted and she dragged her tongue over the sharp tip of her fangs. Yup. They were real.

  She’d slept and was glad to know it didn’t require a coffin or being underground. She and spiders did not mingle well.

  He took a step forward and she hissed. Vampires do that. Did she have powers? Could she turn into a bat? Bats were nasty. What would she like to turn into if there were choices? A cat maybe? A Panther? Ooh, a unicorn! Pretty!

  “Delilah—”

  Her eyes snapped back to his. Bad man. He took another step and she was on her feet, knees bent, arms spread, ready to attack. Shit, she had claws. Bad. Ass.

  Delilah flexed her hands and rolled her shoulders testing her newfound strength. She felt good, loose. Like she could really fuck a person up. Her eyes zeroed in on her captor. He looked unsure. Good.

  Cautiously, he took a step and she was off the bed and on the other side of the room. Whoa. Moving that fast left her a little dizzy. “Stay back. I’ll attack,” she warned, a courtesy that wasn’t necessary and one he’d done nothing to deserve.